Only Sentiment Remains
by alternaurora
Summary: Castiel spends a quiet morning contemplating the fragile line he walks between heaven and his earthly existence. The angel knows he has a decision to make, and turns to Dean Winchester for guidance. (One-shot: Introspective angel angst, mild Destiel, fluff)


Author's note: I haven't posted any writing in over ten years, so my apologies if this seems unpolished! The title is taken from the song that inspired this little ficlet, 'Arena' by VNV Nation.

Disclaimer disclaimer, I own nothing, etc. :)

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Life. It was a word that Castiel knew in every language belonging to man and beast, living and long since forgotten, back to the dawn of creation on this planet. It was a concept that was cherished by those who understood it and fought for by those who lacked the brain capacity to do so; wild animals clawing for one more day, one more hour; a malignant cancer cannibalizing its host based on the pure and simple instinct to survive.

The Enochian definition of 'life' was vague at best. Here on Earth, Castiel could clearly define the term. Living things had heartbeats, brain activity; they _breathed. _It was scientific, beautifully so. They inhaled the oxygen created by plants whose life was enabled by the gaseous byproduct of the life of more mobile organisms, his Father's ingenious cycle of life begetting more and more opportunities for precious, fragile existence.

In heaven, life was not an instinct, not even a state of being. It was a pretty sentiment. Angels didn't live, rather, they simply _were_. Castiel never truly thought of himself as a 'thing' until he began to spend more time walking the Earth after nursing Dean Winchester's soul back into a more worldly shape. He had no knowledge of the man prior to his siege on the pit, only his heavenly orders to rescue his brother Michael's vessel. But as Castiel obeyed his orders and resurrected the man's essence thread by thread, performing the art of stitching body and soul together for the first time, he came to understand something that angels were never meant to learn.

Angelic Grace was an almighty and invigorating thing, but it was a far cry from the gift of God that he had cradled in his ethereal hands. There, in the flames of perdition, Castiel experienced envy as the first emotion of his eternal '_life'_ among the heavenly host. He began to understand his brother's fall more clearly than he ever had. These souls, the humans that they belonged to; _this_ was the perfect state of being, this was his Father's magnum opus. God had looked upon his angels and found them lacking.

Castiel's envy, however, was not as wrathful as Lucifer's, not as petulant. He could find no fault with God for preferring these imperfect creatures, these _souls_. As the angel mended the life that was Dean Winchester, felt the joy and misery and precious laughter and monotonous days of simply existing, he knew that he would fall; not now, not anytime soon, but someday. Not because he could not bear his Father forcing him and his brethren to serve these mortal beings, but because he understood his Father's reasoning.

Residing above, existing in a state of heavenly Grace, would never be enough. Not anymore. Dean Winchester had more or less _ruined_ heaven for Castiel, scorched him with the knowledge of an existence forbidden to him, a wound just as aching and prominent for the angel as the welt he had left on the man's shoulder. Then that night in the barn in Illinois when the plan could no longer allow the moment to be delayed, Castiel presented himself to this soul that had so irrevocably dislodged him, the immovable soldier of heaven. The angel had never felt so devastatingly vulnerable, and Dean welcomed him with a knife to his vessel's chest.

But that was a long time ago. Years now, technically, and much had happened since then.

Castiel dangled his feet over the side of the rock, watching the endless motion of the waves coming in and being dragged back out into the horizon, the occasional sea spray misting his face. They were somewhere in Oregon, maybe Washington. The brothers had taken care of a nest of vampires in Seattle a few days before (he had caught that much of the story at least- Sam had made a bad joke involving the lack of sunlight and Dean had mocked him relentlessly), and they were creeping back down the coastline. '_Taking it easy_,' Dean said, until another case reared its ugly head.

It was early morning now and both Winchesters were still asleep in the seaside motel up the road, curled up in scratchy sheets, still wearing their jeans and flannel. It was peaceful here by the water, watching the sun blindly fight to pierce the clouded sky, listening to the immortal tide that rolled long before any man walked the Earth and would continue long after the last one breathed their final breath.

But it would not survive the angels.

A sharp gasp of wind sliced the air, ruffling Castiel's hair, fluttering the length of his trench coat like a mangled flag. The waves kicked up in an earthy roar, white foam fizzling around the rock he perched on. Castiel lifted a hand out over the water, fingers clawed tense and righteous. He slowly curled his hand into a tight fist and the surf died, the wind silenced, his angelic might daring the elements to claim him.

Even with his diminished powers, Castiel could still bend aspects of this realm to his will. It obeyed him. As much as he came to view this world as a more truthful paradise than he viewed heaven, it was not his home. Not in his current state.

He slashed his hand across the horizon. The waves lapping at the rock he perched on jumped and surrounded him, stretching up towards heaven before crashing back down when Castiel dismissively dropped his hand.

"Nice waterworks, Poseidon," a familiar baritone sounded behind the angel.

Since the hunter couldn't see his face, Castiel indulged himself and let a smile twist up the corner of his mouth. "Hello, Dean. You're up early."

"Yeah, this air makes Sammy snore. Must be sea salt in the air or something, I guess. Dude sounds like a bear."

"He certainly has the proper stature."

"Maybe there's a secret height to volume ratio for inconsiderate roommates that I wasn't told about." Dean crouched next to the angel. "Lucky you, zapping out of there before he started sawing logs. I thought you've been sleeping more lately?"

"I have," Castiel admitted. "I just didn't want to sleep in the chair again. The accommodations of this motor lodge are not the most _accommodating_ that we've come across."

Dean only gave a curt hum for a response.

It wasn't a lie. The more time he spent down here, the more he felt. He could feel the crisp coastal air tossing his hair about, the cool kiss of ocean spray on his skin as he closed his eyes and turned his face to the warm, rising sun. He knew how his back felt after sleeping in an improperly assembled Ikea chair, that was certain, and he knew the simmering annoyance he felt at watching the brothers resting comfortably on their lumpy and questionably stained yet entirely preferable mattresses (they offered to call '_rock-paper-scissors'_ for it, whatever that was, but this was their life and he was their guest- who was he to ask them to sacrifice their comfort in exchange for his?).

Right then, Castiel felt the only thing that kept him returning again and again and again. He didn't know what it was, but it was warm and weightless and infinite, a glow from within. Here, sitting in companionable silence next to Dean Winchester, Castiel could no longer tell himself that this wasn't the reason. This human and his kind heart disguised by vulgar wit and puzzling metaphors. His full-body laugh and jacket collars only popped at the one spot behind his neck. His eyes, ones that Castiel could testify first-hand were windows to the man's soul, smiling and green like the iridescent wings of a dragonfly suspended in pure morning light.

He felt, now more than ever, the weight of the choice placed before him not by heaven, but by the manner of his existence.

"Dean, there is something I need to discuss with you."

"Go ahead, Cas. Shoot."

Something in Castiel's chest twisted at the sound of Dean's voice- so carefree, not flippant but far from serious. He suppressed a sigh. He had to speak his piece now or he might decide it was best to refrain from speaking it it all.

"I have been spending increasing amounts of time on Earth with you and Sam. It is becoming increasingly difficult to move between realms as my angelic powers wane. I accepted long ago that possessing this corporeal form for extended intervals would weaken my Grace, especially after rebelling. That is fine. What troubles me, Dean, is that if I continue down the path I'm on, I will not be able to return to heaven."

Dean picked up a small stone that had broken off from the boulder and tossed it into the water with a pointed '_plunk_'.

"Cas, if you ask me to join you in flipping the bird to the people upstairs, I'm right there with you, buddy, believe me. But if you think I want to keep you here at the expense of taking away your home, you don't know me. If helping us out is hurting you that badly-"

"It hurts, Dean," Castiel interrupted gruffly. "I won't lie to you, it hurts. Though not in a way you would understand. Falling from Grace is a painful experience whether it happens in a plummeting ball of flame or slowly, day by day."

"Then why do it?" Dean challenged through his teeth.

"Because I want to," the angel countered. "Because it is easier to fall than to learn how to say goodbye."

Dean turned startled, wide eyes on Castiel. "What the hell, Cas? Did they give you an ultimatum up there or something?"

"No, Dean, I gave it to myself."

Hell burned hot, but heaven wasn't exactly a temperate paradise either. All of the bitter cold and soulless truth of what Castiel actually was glared back at Dean through those ice blue eyes.

"So what you're saying is it's us or them, basically," Dean said weakly.

"Yes."

Dean was silent for a long moment. "Then maybe it's time to head on home, Cas. That's your destiny anyway, ain't it? Fate? Angels in heaven, demons in hell, the rest of us wandering around in the middle of it all trying to figure out which one our soul's gonna get catapulted to when the lights go out."

Castiel closed his eyes and hoped that the words were as difficult for Dean to say as they were for him to hear. When he opened his eyes again, the pain was written clear across the hunter's face. Silent yet suffering, the Winchester way.

"I no longer believe in destiny. I cannot accept that the moments that have brought me here were fated to be. My Father would never create such an inelegant path for one of his angels."

"Well if it's not destiny, then what is it? It isn't like you chose to roll around in the filth with us 'mud monkeys.' We call, you come because you're contractually obligated to or some crap, then you poof away to go do angel stuff. Sounds like a raw deal to me."

"That '_deal'_ expired as soon as Adam said 'yes' to Michael. You are no longer my charge, Dean. You are-" Castiel hesitated, scratched around his knowledge of the English language, and came up with nothing that suited his verbal needs. Instead, he settled on: "_Exasperating."_

"Remind me to look that one up," Dean said.

"What I'm trying to explain to you, I— I don't understand it. It feels that as my Grace is decaying, I'm developing a soul. I'm certain that you've noticed I haven't been quite as stoic and _angelic _as I previously was. I feel _alive, _Dean_. So _alive, and— it's glorious."

A soft smile curved the corner of Dean's mouth at hearing the angel's enthusiasm. "But is it worth never going home for?"

"Heaven isn't my home," Castiel said. "Not anymore."

"You can't honestly expect me to believe you'd give up paradise for some flea-bag motel every night."

"No, but—" Castiel inhaled deeply, the breath— the delicious, tempting, _living_ breath— steadying his body that had begun to shake, such a human reaction. "Do you wish for me to leave, Dean?"

"No!" he answered immediately.

"Then why does it feel like you're trying to push me away?"

"Because I don't want you to fall because of us, okay?!" Dean barked. "If what you're saying is true and you are able to choose these things for yourself now, I don't want you to make this sacrifice for us!"

"It wouldn't be a sacrifice, and it certainly wouldn't be for you and Sam," Castiel said, his deep voice softening. If Dean wasn't sitting next to him, the words would have never reached his ears. The angel looked out over the water, into the hazy ball of yellow light that had almost burned through the morning fog.

"I want to stay. I have tried to convince myself otherwise for such a long time now, Dean, believe me. But I no longer have the strength, let alone the desire to change my mind. But if I close the door on heaven once and for all, if I choose this—" Castiel blinked back a set of traitorous tears and shook his head.

"Cas?"

"It isn't heaven or the motel rooms, it's this… _You_. _This_ feels like home to me." Cas huffed a breath as he angled himself towards Dean, wrung his hands, and let the words fall freely from his lips. "We could be on the road or at a diner, or when I've watched over and held your nightmares at bay, or even when you're ogling women of ill repute at the bars you take me to, I always know I'm home when I'm in your presence. If I stay, I do it because for the first time in my existence, I feel _alive. _Raising you from the pit burned the memory of your soul into my mind and now even after all this time, it is the only thing that holds any true importance to me. I— I want to stay. But I need to know that it is acceptable to you."

Despite an obvious instinct to turn away, Dean held Castiel's gaze as his jaw hung slack. "Are you asking my permission to fall?"

"I'm askingfor permission to remain in your life indefinitely regardless of what status heaven holds me to. And if that's acceptable, some assurance that I have not terrified you would be welcome as well."

"Is that what this is all about, Cas?" Dean asked. His hesitant words were as fragile as the angel staring back at him looked. "You want to be with me?"

"Yes."

Dean let go of a breath he hadn't been aware of holding and let it fall into a soft chuckle. Embarrassed fear exploded across Castiel's face at the sound until Dean took one of the angel's hands in both of his.

"Well, that's awesome," Dean said as a smile stretched across the width of his flushed face.

"Dean—"

"Look, Cas, if this is what you really want, I'm not going anywhere. Whatever this is, whatever _we_ are, we'll figure that out as we go, alright? Just do what makes you happy."

"If you are trying to placate me—"

"If you're allowed to be happy, so am I. Sounds fair, doesn't it?"

"Yes, but—" Castiel's face was contorted with doubt and an agonized touch of hope. "You're happy with me?"

"Castiel," Dean said, tone serious. Hearing his full name seemed to momentarily stun the angel. Dean came up onto his knees and held Castiel's face in his hands. He couldn't turn away if he tried. Dean was silent while he gathered his thoughts, wetting his lips with his tongue as he so often did.

"After everything we've been through, what reason have I given you to think I'm not? Sure we've hit a few speed bumps along the way, but I _pray _to you, Cas. After all the shit I've seen, you managed to give me something to believe in. Don't you ever doubt that you mean as much to me as I apparently do to you."

Castiel's face warmed to Dean's touch, his eyes softening with adoration. "Dean."

"Now I am going to get up and casually walk back to the room and make breakfast because Sam just stepped outside in his jogging get-up and I'd really prefer not to have an audience right now, so hold that thought. Bacon and eggs sound good?"

"Sounds perfect."

Dean popped to his feet and ran a hand through Castiel's hair affectionately before jumping to the sand and making his way back to the motel. Castiel watched the hunter's retreat. Tears brimmed in the angel's eyes— a human bodily function he had previously known to only represent sadness- and he began to smile but a mirthful laugh escaped of its own accord. He quieted himself, lest Sam somehow end up having forgotten his headphones and wonder why their 'nerd angel' was laughing.

Castiel considered turning his face heavenward and sending a out a silent ecstatic _hallelujah, _but now was not the time. Now was the time for greasy bacon and eggs, for driving off down the coastline listening to Dean sing along to his classic rock cassette tapes, drumming along on the Impala's steering wheel while Sam scoffed and trained his stare on the scenery passing by, for supply runs and quick hunts and watching television marathons with the Winchesters.

Castiel could not understand how this uncontainable, unbridled joy bursting inside his chest could be forbidden in heaven. Never in his years had he felt such pure happiness. Why would his Father deny any of his children this? He knew he would spend the rest of this life wondering, but if he never learned the answer, so be it.

He was finally home.


End file.
